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Throwing bananas . . .
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The Hills are alive...
I apologise, I’ve been neglecting my blog of late. It is, however, Friday afternoon, 3pm, and my mind is beginning to wander.
I was wondering, am I a bad commuter?
When somebody cuts in front of me as I walk to work, why do I continue to walk straight ahead, deliberately ploughing into their ankles and heels?
When somebody is walking with a pronounced swing of the arms, why do I ignore the flailing arms and let them whack me as I walk past them?
When somebody carries a folded umbrella horizontally, as it were a sword or dagger, why do I purposefully walk into it?
I am bad. But people who cut in front of me are thoughtless, people who swing their arms violently are ludicrous and umbrellas should be carried vertically.
I do tolerate wheelie suitcases, but only because once or twice I’ve had to bring one to work.
In other news, I went to the Sound of Music in the West End last night… and I can’t get ‘High on a hill with a lonely goatherd’ out of my head.
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Eggs
Easter approaches, and I was wondering whether Jesus was allowed a Cadbury’s Creme Egg before the crucifixion.
I can’t seem to function this afternoon so I thought I’d make an inane blog entry to wind down the clock that goes ever more slowly.
I am going to Wales for a curry this weekend. And maybe a walk on one of my favourite parts of Britain, the Gower Peninsula.
What is the best part of Britain anyway? It’s got to be the west coast, West Wales, West Scotland and Cornwall are my front runners, but I guess it depends what rocks your boat.
I had a dream last night in which I was eating cakes. I ate lots of them and was about to help myself to yet another when a car alarm went off in the road outside. I was furious! I had to leave my cakes, wake up, get out of bed and peep through the window, and when I got back into bed sleep wouldn’t come and I lost all my cakes.
Talking of cakes, I much admired the plump-ish woman on my train yesterday, who polished off a box of 6 Krispy Kreme donuts before we stopped at Woking. It was almost as if her hand was out of control, I’m sure her brain was saying ‘no more!’, but nevertheless her hand would rustle its way into the box and re-emerge furtively with yet another bunch of calories. Good on you, gal, don’t let these smart alec food experts put you off your donuts. If they make you happy, eat ‘em.
If we heeded the food experts we would all have starved to death by now.
I can’t think of Easter without thinking about that cartoon of the Duracell bunny going at it like a bunny rabbit.
And so to all you out there, Happy Easter, and may your eggs remain unfertilised.
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Wooden spoon?
Whatever is wrong with Wales this rugby season? Is it to be slammers to spooners in 2 seasons? Last season we had excuses, hundreds of injuries, but this time most of those slammers are there or thereabouts.
I think they’ll beat Italy, but I think they’ll win before every match. I just don’t understand why they’re bottom of the table.
As usual, Gwlad has it right…
http://www.gwladrugby.com/
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Daxy stirs controversy
It may not be the fashionable viewpoint, but I think that a girl who has left her baby at home, gone out clubbing, got drunk and vandalised a car needs a few swift punches.
If the policeman had truly laid into her she would have looked a lot worse, as it was the punches were controlled and targeted, and she deserved them.
Yes, I am of the school that one should never hit a lady. But first they must qualify as a lady.
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Keeping them awake
So there I was lecturing to a crowd of about 20 people, and the best looking girl in the audience fell asleep . . .
Twice . . .
Should I spice up my lectures? Dress a little more racily? Do a striptease? Use a megaphone?
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On shoes
Damn, I need to buy some shoes . . . every shoe I have has secret rainwater inlets and there’s nothing worse than squelching around the office. Well, I suppose being beheaded might be worse . . .
I have a Japanese friend who has a shoe fixation. Whenever he visits the UK all he wants to do is hit the seriously expensive shoe shops. On his visit last year he spent £1000 on shoes . . . and he only bought 2 pairs. I am nonplussed . . . I just can’t get into shoes as a hobby.
Of course many of that strange breed known as the opposite sex have a shoe fixation, but let’s face it, female shoes are brighter, more varied, more colourful and more interesting. Not that I would wear them, but I can at least understand the female shoe fixation. I can’t understand how anybody can get excited about guy’s shoes . . . rows and rows of boring lace-ups.
I don’t go for those alligator-skin cowboy boots, either. They are mostly worn by prats and red-faced American oldsters in check trousers. No sirree.
My favourite shoes are bare feet.
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Airport shits
Think of the nastiest place you can imagine. It’s got to be the smoking room at Heathrow Terminal 3. The ventilation system doesn’t work, you’re likely to catch a disease from it on top of the cancer that hits you the minute you enter.
Still, compared with the rest of Terminal 3 it’s par for the course.
While I’m at it, the car parking fees are a disgusting rip off too. What the hell is Heathrow doing with all this money it rips off travellers?
And the Duty Free? Duty Free my arse! They may not charge duty on it, but they certainly bump up the prices anyway. Bloody rip off, Heathrow!
You people should look at real airport prices in proper airports.
God, I’m pig sick of air travel, and the way they treat us!!!!!!!!!
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Throwing bananas . . .
